


Shown

by DaimeryanRei



Series: Summer Smut Challenge [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaimeryanRei/pseuds/DaimeryanRei
Summary: Summary: Tony is called in by SHIELD to keep watch over a very special prisoner. What starts out as a simple baby-sit task, dissolves quickly into frustration and manipulation…





	Shown

Title: Shown  
Fandom: Avengers (MCU)  
Pairings: Ironfrost (Tony Stark x Loki)   
Genre: PWP-ish, slightly introspective   
Warnings: man on man action, coarse language  
Summary: Tony is called in by SHIELD to keep watch over a very special prisoner. What starts out as a simple baby-sit task, dissolves quickly into frustration and manipulation…  
Author’s note: Written for the Summer Smut Exchange Challenge, as suggested by my lovely writing partner in crime. Choice of pairing: Tony Stark x Loki. Prompt: Beer, bacon and No Forgiveness. Setting: As far from the city as possible. Full title: ‘What I’ve felt, what I’ve known, never shined through in what I’ve shown’. Lyrics taken from “The Unforgiven” by Metallica. Feedback is a nice thing.

Key: ----------------- = scene change

\---------------------------------------

_Son of a bitch_. Tony keeps repeating the same phrase as he’s so _not_ in the mood to play babysitter. What the hell is Fury even thinking? That he has nothing better to do? That his time is less precious? Grumbling, Tony laments the fact that he had to leave his glass of Dalmore at his penthouse at the Avengers Tower. Such a good year, and he’d fully intended to enjoy it with a little company, as he was about to call some friends… well, if he actually had friends. Of course he has friends! He could fill up the entire Tower with friends and have a good time! It’s debatable however, how many of them are fair-weather friends or _real_ friends. And that’s why Tony Stark spends his evenings alone, and that’s why he responds to Nick Fury’s call.

“You never guess who we ran into when we dismantled Doom’s latest tech lab,” Fury had said, sounding amused and annoyed at the same time. He’d been talking about Black Widow’s latest stealth mission to infiltrate a rendering plant just outside New York. It was suspected the factory was a cover-up for a weapons technology and design lab. No one would’ve known if it hadn’t been for Doom himself, taking a 60% interest in the company; the transaction was flagged as ‘dubious’ by SHIELD and Black Widow had been send to investigate. Of course, she had found more than enough proof of the illegal weaponry and Fury had assembled a small team consisting of the Widow, Hawkeye and Falcon to deal with the problem. No need to bring out the big guns; Doom wasn’t at the plant in person and of course he would deny any involvement. At least they had shut down one of his labs, setting him back for now.

“So, who did you run into?” Tony had asked, already bored of playing the guessing game.

“Loki,” Fury answered and Tony had almost fallen off his chair. 

“What the hell was he doing there?”

“I don’t know. Took an arrow in the arm and surrendered before Barton was going to shoot him in the eye. We took him to Plain Fields.”

“Plain Fields,” Tony repeated. He had read all about the latest SHIELD project, a state-of-the-art prison… eh, containment area… for ‘special’ prisoners. With the world so diverse with villains and supervillains wielding mutant powers, magical powers, alien technology and/or all three of the above, a conventional prison simply wouldn’t do. Plain Fields was the euphemistic name for a top secret location in a barren wasteland, as far from the city as possible, where a hypermodern, ultra-guarded facility had been built. “What do you need me for?”

“We want someone to keep an extra eye on him. You know the guy, slippery as an eel and cunning as a fox. I don’t want a repetition of what happened in New York.”

Tony was occupied with his exquisite Dalmore. “Let Thor deal with it.”

“We haven’t been able to locate him. We’re working on it. In the meantime…”

Sure, sure, why not, Tony Stark will come immediately to the rescue, huzzah! He’s got nothing better to do, etc., and no one else is available. Wilson, Barton and Romanoff are on downtime, standard procedure after a mission. Banner is at some kind of convention in Europe. Steve is off smooching somewhere with Bucky; well, he calls it “exploring options for a relationship” but everyone knows they’re smooching. Tony couldn’t care less; as far as he’s concerned, Steve can smooch with the entire Avengers team. But with every other member occupied with whatever mission/training/hairdresser’s appointment, that leaves him as the only babysitter and good ol’ Tony Stark fulfils his patriotic duty as usual. Sort of. Iron Man to the rescue! Not. He knows why he’s been called upon: Fury doesn’t want to deal with Thor, who’ll come thundering to Plain Fields and crush the entire facility with his mighty hammer if he thinks his precious baby brother is in danger. Or injured. _Goddamnit_ , Loki. 

Plain Fields isn’t only accommodating prisoners, it’s also a high-tech communications centre. It’s been built to deal with anything human, mutant or alien and is well-equipped to respond to (inter-)national crises. Fury has insisted on implementing facilities for the Avengers, apparently with them often visiting Plain Fields in mind: showers, bed rooms, a kitchen, fitness and spa, and of course everything to house the Iron Man suit(s). Tony arrives too late to talk to Fury in person, but everything that needs to be said, has been said. He has to baby-sit a trickster god until said god’s brother has been located to deal with the ensuing mess himself. 

Great, just great. He changes into a Black Sabbath shirt and easy jeans, leaving the suit on call, of course. What has he to fear? Surely Loki hasn’t prepared another invasion? Though, if he’s teaming up with Doom… or perhaps _that_ ’s what Fury really wants. To pry information out of him. To get to know what he was doing at that weapons tech lab. Ah, this sounds much better than ‘baby-sitting’. Delving for information, yeah, he can do that. 

“Good evening, mister Stark.” The guards greet him politely yet curtly, all drilled according to strict SHIELD protocols. They’re carrying weapons he doesn’t even know were taken into production yet, and he trawls through SHIELD’s hidden databases regularly. “The prisoner is in E-15, sir.” So, stripping him of his name and identity? Perhaps it’s for their own safety and security. Tony grumbles. Fury owes him an entire bottle of Dalmore.

He locates E-15 and slams into the transparent door. It doesn’t open automatically; he needs to get his breath analyzed, his retina scanned and his voice sampled. Oh, and his fingerprints too, and don’t forget the special password Fury mentioned at the very last moment. Tony enters the password and yes, the door slides open. He’s not in the prison cell… containment area yet, no, oh no. He has to cross an exceedingly long hallway, his every movement registered by bazillions of cameras. Tony waves at them and refrains from sticking out his tongue. Finally, another door and the whole procedure repeats itself: retinas, voice, breath, password, fingers… “Why don’t you ask for the size of my dick?” Tony says out loud, particularly rude because he’s fed up already. He knows it’s necessary. This isn’t a bank robber. This isn’t a petty thief. This is _Loki_. 

Tony enters another hallway, and now he sees the cell in all its glory. It’s a similar design to the one on the Helicarrier; build to contain someone as strong as Hulk. The main difference is the weird lines along the cell, the material alien to him; this supposedly blocks all magic sources. 

If he’d been wearing a shirt with long sleeves, he would’ve rolled them up by now. As it is, Tony approaches the cell and crosses his arms in front of his chest. The familiar figure inside the cell doesn’t move. Loki sits cross-legged on the floor, his back turned towards him. He’s dressed in similar armor as in Stuttgart, the green and golden one. It looks a bit… haggard though, as if he failed to keep up its maintenance. How much of a fight did he put up before the team overpowered him?

“If you have come here to gloat, you can leave right now,” he says. That voice. He speaks eerily correctly, enunciating every word with utmost precision. Where has he learned English anyway? Must be some magic translation spell… even though Thor doesn’t have much trouble with the language either.

“I’m not your brother, if that’s who you think you’re talking to,” he says.

Very slowly, Loki turns his head to the right, looking over his shoulder. Despite the harsh, bright tube lights everywhere, half his face is covered by shadows; some strands of his longish, loose-falling black hair cling to his cheeks and chin. “Stark,” he says. His voice lacks the usual contempt. He looks extremely pale.

Tony frowns. He expects an angry, defiant Loki, ready to battle with words and lies, up to his usual schemes and manipulations, not this… defeated Loki. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Do you humans not have certain conventions and agreements on how to treat your prisoners?” Loki shifts a little, so Tony can see the dark spot on his right arm, and it’s not the green color of his armor. “I have done nothing, and you throw me in this cage like a wounded beast?”

Tony straightens himself. “Hey, listen, it’s not my problem that you’ve got such a bad reputation. That’s what you get for invading the best city in the world.”

A snort. “I did not think Madrid ranked as the best city in the world.”

“New York, you asshole!” Tony reminds himself not to get worked up. He doesn’t have any beef with Loki, does he? Well, there’s the defenestration part. And killing Phil Coulson. Angry, he turns away and forces himself to count to ten. Alright, let’s start over again. “Fine. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I am injured, moron.” Loki gets up and straightens himself. He seems taller than before, if that’s even possible; Tony doesn’t like it when he has to look up to meet people’s gaze. 

“You can’t heal yourself with your magic?”

“That is not how it works. Healing magic can only be performed on your body by someone else, and you might have guessed that not many are standing in line to heal me.”

Tony heaves a sigh. To his left is a small command panel and he presses a button.

“Yes?” A static, female voice.

“This is Tony Stark, E-15,” he says. “Can someone bring me a first-aid kit and… something to eat? To drink?”

“What would you like, mister Stark?”

“A cheeseburger,” is the first thing that comes to Tony’s mind. “Two of them, and don’t hold back on the bacon. Beer. Water.”

“Beer or water?”

“Both.”

“I’ll send someone over right away, mister Stark.”

“Thank you.” Tony turns around. He doesn’t see a cunning, superior smile on Loki’s face, rather a curious one. “Did you hear that? That’s me being kind and _not_ treating you like a beast.”

“I am so very grateful.” Loki snorts.

This isn’t going to work. He’s not cut out to be an interrogator. He lacks the subtlety to weave his words into a web that will compel the other to share his secrets. To hell with Fury. “So, while we wait for the bacon and beer, do you mind telling me what you were doing at that lab? You’re buddy-buddy with Victor now?”

Another snort. “Please. As if I am interested in metal of any kind.”

“At least Victor is a little tougher to throw out of the window.” Tony tilts his head.

“You are still sour about that?”

“Who wouldn’t be? It’s not fun when you see the pavement rapidly coming closer to your face. I really thought I was going to die. Not that you’d care, obviously. Have you ever been close to death? A strong, powerful, mean person like yourself…”

“Do you really think I am _mean_?” Loki’s voice is filled with disdain. “You mortals are so weak.”

“We might be weak, but we sure are resilient. We’ve rebuild the city… and we’ve build this happy hotel, where you have the privilege of being the first one of our esteemed guests.”

Loki looks as him as if he’s sprouted a second head, but his attention is quickly diverted as the doors open and three guards enter, weapons at the ready. The guy in the middle carries a tray with the requested food and drink, the man on the left holds the first-aid kit.

“Do you need any help, mister Stark?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m sure you’re all well-equipped and fit to do your duties, but I can handle this myself.” Tony takes the first-aid kit and the guard puts the tray on the free shelf space next to the command panel, by lack of a regular table. 

“If there’s anything else you need, you know where to find us.”

“No problem.” The men are obviously hesitating. They’re wondering what he’s going to do with the first-aid kit and they’re hesitant to ask. As an Avenger, his status is quite different and of higher importance than just a guard. “Alright, run along now, dinner’s served and I want to eat.”

The guards mumble something and retreat. Tony waits until the doors have closed again before he walks over to the dinner tray. He inspects the cheeseburgers, fully expecting to have received factory-made, microwaved crappy food. To his surprise, the burgers are actually well-prepared with fresh buns, a juicy patty, thick slices of cheese and a big helping of bacon. Not too shabby! It’s piping hot, its heat almost warming up the can of beer and bottle of water standing next to it. Tony hovers with his hand over the control panel. Is he actually going to do this? Why should he even take care of such a superficial flesh wound? It’s not his responsibility. Even though Thor’s going to flip his shit when he finds out Loki has been injured, that’s not his responsibility or problem either. Let Fury deal with it! ‘Access denied’ flashes in big red letters all over the screen. The fuck..! He’d been typing without realizing it. He types the command again. It’s against all protocol and he doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. It’s not like Loki’s mortally wounded, and he could be faking it to boot.

“Accept the fucking command, you stupid computer,” Tony hisses as he tries another command, and another, overriding the actual settings. Finally! The cell door opens.

“You stay back,” he says, pointing at Loki who hasn’t moved a muscle. Perhaps a little late, but better late than never. “And no fun stuff. Remember, we keep track of whatever you do. Too many strikes and you’re off Santa’s nice list.”

He grabs the tray and the first-aid kit and hops into the spacious cell. The door closes behind him. Well, that wasn’t really smart. How is he supposed to get out again? Tony takes a deep breath. He’s standing face to face with the invader of New York. How many people had died again? And here he is, with a first-aid kit, goddamnit. Once this is over and he’s at home again with his Dalmore, he’s going to do some serious self-reflecting. He doesn’t know where to leave the tray with the food. The cell has no furniture but a low bench that also serves as a bed. Or a table. He puts the tray on it and motions for Loki to sit down.

“Have something to eat while I take care of that horrible wound of yours.”

Loki purses his lips as if in disgust, but he obeys. That actually makes Tony nervous. Loki, obedient? To keep himself busy, he opens the first-aid kit. “Would you mind taking off that armor so I can take a look at your arm?”

Loki grabs the water bottle and unscrews the cap. He gulps the cool liquid so thirstily that Tony wonders how long it has been since he’s had anything to drink, or to eat, for that matter. Von Doom is probably the worst host in history, or so he thinks. He leaves Loki to drink while he rummages through the first-aid kit. Some gauze, some disinfectant, a couple of band aids… Loki puts the nearly empty bottle down and shrugs himself out of the armor; a heavy, sturdy coat of some sorts, revealing a dark green shirt underneath. It’s not a common material; Tony remembers how blasting Loki in Stuttgart left little to no impact on the fabric. The arrow pierced through it, however; Tony stares at the tell-taling, small round hole. That’s all the cooperation Loki’s willing to do, as he slumps a little.

“Eat,” Tony says.

“What? You mean that… blob of fat and grease?”

“Sorry,” he grins as he yanks Loki’s sleeve up, ignoring his twitchy reaction, “I should’ve ordered a roasted boar. What do you Asgardian gods eat for dinner anyway?”

Loki mutters something under his breath that doesn’t deserve repetition and he picks up the cheeseburger, apparently not bothered by its hot temperature. Tony doesn’t know what to do, now that he has exposed the wound. Clean it, yeah, he’s got to clean it. He takes the disinfectant and cotton pads out of the first-aid kit.

“How could you be surprised by Barton anyway?” Tony mentions casually as he sets himself to work. “You weren’t paying attention or something? It’s not like you to take an arrow in the arm.” He frowns. “Or was it another attempt to infiltrate? You won’t get very far. We’ve learned from the first, very expensive lesson.”

“Do not overestimate yourself,” Loki answers, his mouth full. Tony can smell the bacon from here. Hmmm… bacon… “I had matters to attend to.”

“Matters,” Tony repeats as he pours disinfectant on the cotton pads and paws at Loki’s arm to clean up the dried, caked blood. “You were at one of Doom’s tech labs, and you call that ‘matters’? Seriously, of all the allies you could choose…”

He hears Loki mutters something again, something like “…at least he is not Thanos”, but he decides to ignore it. “You can tell me. Or Fury will pry it out of you, whatever you prefer.”

A snort. “His interrogations will not have any effect.”

Tony has cleaned up the blood and haphazardly puts a layer of gauze and band aids on Loki’s skin, covering it up with a layer of bandages. He finishes by tying it off with a knot, using all of his strength. Loki doesn’t flinch. 

“I’ve held up my part of the deal,” Tony says. “Now you have to hold up yours.”

“Mine?” He sounds surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I took care of you.”

“I cooperated.”

“Hardly. In exchange for medical aid, food and drink, you could at least tell me what you were doing at Doom’s lab and why you took an arrow in the arm.”

Loki turns his head towards him and smiles. He’s got a pretty smile; a deceptively warm and… sensual one. Too bad the warmth of that smile doesn’t reach his eyes; his cold, green, calculating eyes. 

“Why should I tell you? Because you put a bandage around my arm, gave me something to drink and fed me a bun of grease and oil?”

“You…” Tony looks past him. “You ate them both, you jerk!”

“Oh? One was for you?” He smirks. “You can have this.” He gives him the can of beer.

“Damn right.” Tony grabs the can and yanks the lid off. Beer sprays around, drops of liquid splattering on himself and on Loki.

“Do you not have any manners at all?”

“Says the one who gobbled up _my_ cheeseburger,” Tony retorts. “And is this your way of saying ‘thank you’ for patching you up?”

Loki looks at the messily applied bandages around his arm and he pokes at it. “Why, thank you,” he says, voice sullen. “Would you like me to drop to my knees and pledge allegiance to you?”

“That would be quite fun, yes.” The thought is indeed appealing, but Tony is a little confused nonetheless. Is this the smooth wizard with words Natasha told him about? Is this the cunning, manipulative man whose mere speech has created wars and feuds? A tongue so mighty that Thor is afraid of it? For some reason, it seems laughable now. The cold distance in his eyes, almost like… fear? The haggard armor. He was hungry and thirsty. “You’re not working together with Victor,” Tony concludes, baffled. “You were hiding in plain sight, weren’t you? You’re on the run!”

“I am not,” Loki says and turns away from Tony.

“You _wanted_ to get caught,” he goes on mercilessly. Now the puzzle pieces fit together. “You _wanted_ to go to Plain Fields. You knew you’d be safe here! No way would you get injured so easily. You simply walked into Barton’s way!” Now he laughs out loud. “Oh, poor Clint, this is _so_ going to sour his day!”

“Shut up, shut up!” Loki balls his fists, straining his muscles. “You do not know a thing about it!”

“Sorry, your highness.” Tony sips the beer and puts the can away. He better leave the cell now, instead of staring at the other. “You’re right, I don’t know shit.” He gets up. Out of nowhere, Loki grabs him by the shirt and yanks at the material, forcing him to sit down again. “You will not inform your superiors of this,” he growls. 

“I don’t have any superiors,” Tony answers deadpan. “Look, you’re in a shitty situation, I can see that. I tried my best to patch you up. I even gave you food and drink. My duty’s done now, okay?”

“No. Not okay.” Loki has a handful of t-shirt, and he tugs at the fabric. Tony can hear it rip at the seams. It’s not one of his favorite shirts and he can always buy a new one, but this is getting ridiculous.

“Would you mind..?” Tony points at Loki’s grip. “You’re ruining my shirt.”

“There is a lot more that I could ruin,” Loki threatens. He tightens his grip and pulls Tony closer.

“Back to the standard villain talk, are we?” A slight panic settles in him. He realizes that he’s responsible for the trouble he’s in. He has overridden the code to enter the cell and he wonders if no alarms are going off somewhere. Surely Fury would have extra security built in? An override for the override? “Look, even if you’re threatening me or the others, or Fury, you’re not going anywhere. This is a maximum security…”

“Who says I want to leave?” Loki smirks, but his facial expression is strained. “You are very well at deducing, Tony Stark. I wanted to get caught, indeed. I am on the run. Half the galaxy is after me for botching the invasion of your precious New York. A glorious invasion, for the better of mankind, and you put a stop to it. I will never forgive you for that.”

“Good,” Tony grimaces in return. “I’ll never forgive you for killing a friend of mine. His name was Phil, remember?”

“Then I guess there is no forgiveness for the both of us,” Loki says and presses his lips on his. A crude kiss, almost biting, snarling, a mockery of a kiss; Tony protests and pushes against Loki’s arms. He doesn’t let go of him, so Tony punches his upper arm, exactly on the bandaged wound. No flinch whatsoever. Loki doesn’t even growl; he simply tugs on Tony’s bottom lip and nibbles on it. “How does that feel?” he asks, his words barely comprehensible. 

“You’re… you’re not much of a kisser,” Tony retorts. The kisses register in his mind as kisses, but they’re nothing short of biting, nipping, pinching… Loki doesn’t answer and the only sound in the cell is the tearing of fabric. Tony is aghast at Loki’s audacity and his fingers are immediately on his skin, icy cold to the touch. “Hey! My shirt!”

“It is too late for your shirt,” Loki answers but he loosens his grip on the garment nonetheless. Ironically, he seems to be amusing himself with Tony’s squirminess. 

“What are you doing?” Tony glares to his left, to the control panel outside of the cell. It flashes ‘manual override’ on the screen as if to drive the point home that he, and only he is responsible for opening the cell. _Come on Fury, this can’t be your only security system!_ What about the cameras? Why aren’t guards running down the hallway to come to his rescue? 

“After everything I have been through, I just want to have a little bit of fun,” Loki whispers in his ear. 

Tony Stark is _not_ a damsel in distress. His hand goes to his wrist - and _goddamnit_ he hasn’t put on the bracers to call for his suit. He’s convinced that not even this cell would withstand the powers of the Iron Man armor. “You’re crazy,” he says. “Are you going to assault me? Don’t you think that it’ll piss off your big brother even more, besides all the trouble you’re already in?”

Bad comment. Bad choice of words. Loki slams him on his back on the hard bench and stars are dancing in front of his eyes. He crawls on top of him, heavier than he thought, and he holds in his hands something that once was a Black Sabbath shirt. He discards the shreds of fabric with a mere gesture. Tony’s skin reacts with goosebumps to the cold bench; it’s made out of some kind of concrete, and it’s uncomfortable as hell. Furthermore, he’s naked. Well, his torso is. And… yeah, he’s Tony Stark, but Tony Stark doesn’t like to be exposed like this when it’s not of his own volition, with a talking-in-riddles (demi?)god on top of him with that crazy look in his eyes. Is he scared? Hell yes, he’s scared. He and his big mouth, he shouldn’t have started about Thor..! 

Loki doesn’t answer. Instead, he trails his kisses all over Tony’s neck and throat. His hands are on Tony’s shoulders, pinning him down.

“What are you doing? Is this really necessary?” Tony’s mind goes ten thousand miles a minute. What the hell..! 

“It is,” Loki deadpans. “You fascinate me, Stark. You refused to be under my mind control, yet you came running to take care of me. I have not thanked you properly.”

“If this is your way of saying ‘thank you’, then you’re welcome and okay, that’s about enough,” Tony says. It’s no use trying to push the other off; Loki’s much heavier than he looks. Strangely enough, his weight is actually easy to carry, it’s not like he is crushed. Wedged perhaps, between the stone bench and Loki, but not… crushed. Loki’s fingers are cold and they slip from his shoulders, pressing against his skin. Loki ignores him. He studies Tony’s chest, his fingers tracing the scars. 

“Now I see why the scepter did not work on you,” he murmurs, satisfied, as if a great riddle has been solved. “You have a big heart, Stark. A man without a heart would not have fed and bandaged his prisoner.”

“I’m trying to win the Charity Volunteer of the Year Award, okay?”

His fingers have warmed up to the touch. This isn’t bad at all. Still, it’s quite a dire situation he worked himself in, and he doesn’t need his body responding to the touches. This is Loki, for Chrissake!

“It is not my intention to stay here.” Loki lowers his voice to a mere whisper. “I am sure your Director is going to contact my darling brother and he will be here soon enough to take me back to Asgard. Perhaps it is for the better… perhaps it is not.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Wouldn’t you like to go back to your… eh, home planet?”

Loki smiles, baring his perfect teeth. “No.” He leans into Tony again, tongue swirling over his skin. Testing, tasting, touching to find the sensitive spots. Tony has never known he had so many; is it simply because it has been a while, or that Pepper was the last one to have ever touched him like this? Is there a flutter of guilt, or awkwardness, or embarrassment? His hand… it moves of its own accord and he grabs himself strands of dark, longish hair, twisting and twirling between his fingers. “The cameras,” he says.

“Please,” Loki manages to snort in between licks and those typical biting-nipping-kisses, “as if they could spot a Fire Giant from two inches up close.”

Tony groans and grunts. “You disabled them with your magic! You manipulated me!”

“Quite the contrary.” Loki’s fingers continuously touch him, traipsing down his sides. “It was your own decision to enter this cell, Stark. I might have been able to cast a cloaking spell before I was… ah, incarcerated, but I have not done anything to your mind. This is your own doing.”

“Liar,” he bites back, appalled at his own rapid breathing. Dear God! And this is just mere touching… _touching_ goddamnit, and what if he… 

“It is not my problem if you chose to interpret my words as lies,” Loki says pleasantly. He’s close to Tony’s bellybutton now, and teasingly dips his tongue into it. “It would probably be very shocking to hear that I do not tell lies all that much.”

“You twist the truth,” Tony hisses and shivers at the same time.

“We all tell lies,” Loki says as a matter-of-factly. “What is the big problem?”

“People like to trust each other,” Tony objects. His hands are still threading through Loki’s hair, entangling the dark strands. “Trust is an essential emotion. It’s… civil.”

Long fingers tapping on his zipper. “Civil?” 

“Basic interaction, even.” Tony cranes his neck. Loki opens his pants as if unwrapping a present. His facial expression is hard to determine. 

“You do no trust me,” Loki says. “Why should you? You never know what I am up to. Yet you are not screaming murder and calling for the guards.”

“What’s the use? You probably have them all cloaked or blocked or whatever.”

Fingers on his treacherous bulge. Tony’s eyes are on Loki, following his every movement. What’s he doing? No, what’s _he_ doing? Why is he allowing this? He’s not _that_ horny, is he? Loki’s hair feels soft. If he reaches a little further, he can touch his face. “I trust you,” he suddenly says.

That’s a comment Loki hasn’t expected. He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really think you are in a position to trust _me_?”

“You could’ve done… things to me.” Tony tilts his head. “I mean, you could’ve killed me the moment I set foot in the cell. You trust me too, I guess.” Yeah. That should make him think.

Loki withdraws his hands, sliding over Tony’s legs as he straightens himself. “Humans. I have to admit, you are quite complicated.”

“Are we?” Tony’s voice shoots up high. Loki takes off his dark green shirt and throws it into Tony’s face. He removes the garment and it joins his shredded Black Sabbath shirt on the floor. Loki’s skin isn’t flawless. Pale, and a scar here and there. It piques his curiosity and Tony reaches for him. If he were to think of handsome or beauty, he would never have thought of Loki. He’s too tall, too pale, too… strange. He doesn’t have Pepper’s warm and bright glow, he doesn’t have that raw sexual appeal or amazing model looks like Tony’s other bed partners. Still… what is it about him, alien or godlike, something crazy or pathetic..? Something desperate, a scream for attention? Pity-sex? When he looks at Loki, he doesn’t see someone pathetic or pitiful. A little haggard, yes, unhinged somewhat… but those eyes, those green eyes that are so cold and so contradictive, it’s so hard to understand them. But does he want to? At least, he can add ‘fucking a god’ to his list. Take _that_ , Steve Rogers and your Winter Soldier! 

He groans. Loki is calmly removing the rest of Tony’s clothes, exposing him further, and his physical reaction doesn’t lie at all. He wonders why he reacts like this, and why Loki has chosen this… approach. It’s exciting and confusing. He can’t understand himself, he doesn’t know why he allows this to happen… Apparently it has been decided there’s been enough talking for now, as Loki doesn’t answer him, which is fine by Tony. He squirms a little. Loki’s fingers curl around his cock, and Tony inhales deeply. He usually is the dominant one, taking the initiative and being the aggressor in bed. This feels definitely different, not bad at all, and somehow he knows that Loki won’t accept a reversal of roles. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe he can even teach him how to properly kiss. His lips must be black and blue from all that biting and nipping… and his thoughts go up in smoke the next second, as moist lips close around his cock. 

Yes, it’s still crude, rough even, but since when has Tony Stark been interested in soft candlelight and romantic music? And no, bright tube lights and a hard bench isn’t his idea of a nice, romantic place to have sex, but it’s too late to turn back now. Tony’s fingers tighten in Loki’s hair and he decides to keep the soul-searching and the analysis for later. Right now, he moans unabashedly, arching his back even. Loki has his hands on his legs, pushing them slightly apart, his lips around his length, tongue prodding and poking. It’s the weirdest feeling in the world, to be here, to be with Loki of all people, in a cell, naked… is he really just a slave to his physical cravings and it doesn’t matter who he’s with, as long as he gets satisfied?

“Loki,” his name escapes his lips. It’s not his intention to moan like this… Tony Stark does not moan and squirm like this! It has to be the Dalmore, his beloved whisky, he had too much to drink… but it’s not true, he recognizes the lies he tells himself and fuck this all, why shouldn’t he be enjoying this? After all it’s Fury’s fault for asking him to baby-sit. All the consequences are for the Director, right? The last of his rational thoughts exits his mind when Loki continues, taking him in completely. His hands are all over him and his tongue hits the right spot over and over again. It’s egoistic, it’s selfish, but Tony enjoys himself. Every now and then a more rational thought reenters his mind: _I don’t have a condom on me. I don’t have any lube on me_. Does Loki even know about these kinds of things? Completely normal for humans, but not for beings like him? He wants to laugh at the thought of interrupting Loki with a “Hey, eh, you know, you got a condom?” and then another thought strikes his mind. His teammates are going to kill him when they find out. _This was the stupidest thing you could’ve ever done, Stark!_ His body cramps up, his muscles tense. 

“Something wrong?” Loki smacks his lips in a way that should be outlawed. 

“I was just thinking that we should maybe stop,” Tony says, his voice hoarse. “I mean… you and me… it’s a weird combination, you know.”

“Are you sure? You seem to like it.”

“So do you.” Tony turns his head to the side and takes a deep breath. A moment of silence.

“I do, indeed.” He sounds surprised. “So why should we stop?”

“We shouldn’t have started in the first place,” Tony answers weakly. “Why did you start this, anyway?”

Loki shrugs and refrains from commenting. Instead, he locks eyes with Tony while he strokes his cock, fingers pressing the sensitive flesh here and there, his thumb trailing down to scratch his balls lightly. Tony doesn’t feel the cold, hard bench pressing against his back anymore. His entire body is engulfed with heat, burning with desire and lust. Loki moves his head away and strands of hair slip through Tony’s fingers. He doesn’t like it, he wants to touch the other, but Loki has moved too far away, his attention focused on Tony. He needs both his hands to keep himself balanced on the bench anyway. It’s rather small and not exactly comfortable, if only they were in a comfortable bed! Once again, Loki’s fingers are everywhere, touching him, fondling him, preparing him. His tongue is everywhere, his lips still nipping and biting at his skin, grazing his cock. Tony hisses, moans, pants and squirms. He revels in the attention, in the moment, in the heat of things. His legs are pulled up and instead of clinging to the bench, he clings to Loki instead, leaning into him. 

“Trust,” Loki whispers in his ear and then Tony doesn’t know anymore but the sensation of being filled, of being… connected, held, cradled. Loki pushes him down, hands on his hips and he fucks him in a superb rhythm, reducing Tony to gasps and pants. He holds himself stable by clinging to Loki, fingers pressing into his pale skin, against bumpy scars and wiry muscles. He kisses him wherever he can, if only to do something in return; Tony isn’t the kind of guy to just lie down and take it. Oh, he has no trouble taking it, he’s versatile in that way, he just doesn’t like being inactive, passive. With Loki on top of him, he has better access to touch him, to hold on to him, to inhale his scent, to hear his moans… the build-up to his orgasm is swift and unavoidable, it’s coming so rapidly that he can’t stop it, even if he would. 

He wants to scream out loud but decides against it at the last moment – maybe the guards can’t see him, but hear him? What if… his world ceases to exist. The pinnacle of pleasure, it takes hold of his body and for a moment he’s... weirdly detached from every plane of existence. As if he himself stops existing, stops breathing, stops… registering everything and everyone around him… and then the whole world comes crashing down on him, sound and audio restored and the last thing he hears is his own voice calling out Loki’s name rather softly, and the last thing he sees is Loki’s face, those green eyes darkened, that smile infuriatingly condescending yet sexy. He calls out his name again and Loki says his name as well, but his voice sounds different. Very different. Lower, much lower. 

 

“…Tony!” 

Confused, he blinks. “Huh… what?”

“Friend Tony.” A familiar voice. “How are you feeling?”

“What?” Tony blinks once more and then groans. His body feels stiff and cramped all over.

“Take it easy, my friend. Lie still.”

That voice… “Loki?”

Soft murmuring. Tony wants to lift up his arm but something is lying on top of him, something heavy. His muscles protest. 

“Stop moving. A doctor will arrive soon to check you for injuries.”

“Thor.” Tony connects the dots with the voice. Now that his vision becomes clearer, he can see the outlines of the Asgardian warrior. “What happened?”

“Do not worry, Friend Tony. It was my brother. He put a spell on you.”

“A spell… on _me_?” A dark spot in his vision. A large shadow, cast by…

“We were certain that the material could block any magic used inside and outside the cell,” Fury speaks. He looks aggravated. “It appears that either the material is defective or Loki’s much stronger than I could anticipate.”

“I told you that my brother is a very powerful sorcerer,” Thor says, sounding annoyed. “This meager… line of defense is not going to hold back his magic.”

Fury nods. “It seems that E-15 wasn’t the right choice to contain him. I owe you an apology, Stark. Who knows what he could’ve done to you.” 

“What… did he do to me?” Tony is almost afraid to hear the answer. Now he realizes what’s on top of him. It’s Loki’s armored coat, the green and golden fabric weighing heavily on him.

“Funnily enough, he took your clothes,” Fury says. “We even got him on tape. He simply leaves the cell, waves at the camera and disappears.”

“My Black Sabbath shirt,” Tony says. What the hell..? It was torn to pieces! 

“I’m sure you can afford another one, Stark. Now, I’ve ordered a doctor to check you for injuries. You never know…”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Tony shoots upright and immediately hisses. It’s a miracle he doesn’t yell “My ass!”. Thor grabs him at the shoulders.

“You are in pain! You should lie down.”

“No offense, Oh Strong One,” Tony grunts, “but a cold, hard bench like this isn’t really helping. I… need clothes and then I want to go to bed, with my ridiculously soft mattress.”

“Are you sure? What do you remember?”

“I entered the cell,” Tony confesses. It’s not like Fury wouldn’t have found out. He braces himself for the impending lecture, but Fury remains silent. “With a first-aid kit and something to eat.”

“You did not do any of this of you own volition,” Thor says. He folds his muscular arms in front of his chest. “My brother immediately knew he had still access to his magic, when he was locked up in this cell. He used his sorcery to influence you and make you feel sorry for him. He abused your kind nature, Friend Tony.”

Tony’s mouth falls open. Unknowingly, Thor gives him the perfect, ultimate excuse: it’s all Loki’s fault, it’s because of his magic, he was put under a spell..! Wait… is he sure everything has happened for real? Maybe Thor is right, and it _was_ a magic spell? Judging from his sore ass and various other stiff muscles, he’d say that everything has been very real, but now he starts to doubt himself.

“If you don’t want a doctor, then go home, Stark,” Fury says. “Do you want us to accompany you?”

“No, that’s okay. I do like something to wear, though. I wouldn’t want to headline tomorrow’s newspapers with snapshots of my bare ass.”

Fury turns towards a guard and barks orders at him. Thor still has a worried look on his face, but Tony doubts the warrior is fidgeting because of him. His suspicions are confirmed when Thor asks: “My brother… did he say something in particular?”

How come Loki is such a weak spot to the God of Thunder? Look at him with those puppy-dog eyes, a childish hope on his face, desperately needing to hear something positive. 

“We didn’t talk much,” Tony says, choosing his words carefully. “He was very pleasant…” Very, _very_ pleasant… “Polite, even. Well, he did eat my cheeseburger too, and we tried to piss each other off, but nothing much.”

“His injury..?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tony makes a dismissive gesture. “I disinfected it and slapped a bandage on it. A superficial flesh wound.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Thor says, sounding relieved. “I owe you a big one, Friend Tony.”

Another dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t mention it.” The next second, a guard pops up on his left, offering him a change of clothes. It’s not a prison uniform, but a dark grey pair of slacks and a beige-ish shirt. The shoes aren’t his size, fortunately bigger instead of smaller. Before he realizes it, Tony shrugs into Loki’s coat. When everybody looks quizzically at him, he says: “What? I’m cold!”

“Go home, Stark,” Fury grumbles.

\------------------------------------

On his way home, Tony realizes that he left his suit at Plain Fields. Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have a myriad of back-up suits and he can always send someone to retrieve it. He feels weird. He has gotten away scot-free, nobody has yelled at him for breaking the rules and nobody has seen what has happened. He should be glad, his team and Fury would go berserk if they found out…

“Here we are, sir,” the driver announces. Tony hasn’t protested when a SHIELD vehicle had been waiting outside for him. He enjoys the luxury of being driven; it gives him a nice opportunity to order his thoughts without having to pay attention to traffic. With a startled jolt, it dawns to him that he has looked outside for the entire duration of the ride without creating a single bit of order or overview in his mind. He slaps the driver jovially on the shoulder, gives his thanks to the man and hops out of the car. Avengers Tower is dark at this late, late hour of night (or rather, early, early hour of the morning) and he longs for a shower and some sleep. 

Yeah, maybe after a good night of sleep, everything will look brighter and he can put this all behind him, and hopefully not mull too long over the question whether it was real or not… Tony takes the elevator upstairs and admires himself in the mirror. Loki’s coat looks ridiculous on him. Green is so not his color. He takes the garment off but keeps it in his arms as the elevator rides up. When he arrives at his personal quarters, he throws the coat over the first couch he sees and immediately walks to the living room. The glass of Dalmore is not on the coffee table. He scratches the back of his head. Had he finished it after all? Damnit, well, he better retrieve the bottle from its cabinet, then. Just as he’s about to move, he hears a sound. 

A strange sound, coming from his bedroom. What the hell? Why haven’t his security systems alerted him of this intrusion? Adrenaline shoots through his veins. It just can’t be… Tony grabs another glass and trots over to the bedroom, almost slipping out of his too large shoes. He opens the door to his bedroom, not surprised by the gentle light surrounding the person in his bed.

“You son of a bitch,” he says.

Loki raises the glass of Dalmore to him. “Come on now, you knew this was going to happen.”

“Your big brother was almost in tears about your disappearance,” Tony snorts.

“I am sure I will run into him sooner or later again.” He narrows his eyes at Tony. “Did you tell him…?”

“No, I didn’t, and I don’t know why. By all means, he should be on your ass.”

“I rather be on your ass again.”

“What was real and what wasn’t?” Tony shouts. “Did you use me?”

“That depends on what you chose to believe,” Loki says and sips the whisky. “I manipulated the cameras so that nobody would see us. I manipulated the control panel so that your manual override would not set off any alarms. That is all.” He holds up his arm to show him the messy bandages. “See? Solid proof that you took care of me. And by the way you are feeling, you should know I took are of you, too.”

Tony makes his way over to the bed, halting at the nightstand to grab the bottle of Dalmore, and serves himself a stiff drink. “I still don’t know whether the last part was real or not.”

Loki pats on the bed. “Do not complain, Stark. I will be happy to repeat the effort.”

“How come? You’re only using me as a hide-out, aren’t you?”

Loki shrugs. “You see through me so quickly because we are not that much different.”

“Oh no, don’t start that crap. I refuse to believe that I’m like you or any other supervillain!”

“A supervillain? No, I do not mean anything like that. It is what you show. It is what you have shown me. I show just as much or as little as you do.”

Tony’s baffled. He swallows the rest of his Dalmore and plops on the bed. “Is this about trust, then?”

“Trust and no forgiveness,” Loki answers. “For what we feel. For what we know. For what we’ve shown. For the both of us.”

Tony crawls against him and Loki’s arm around him somehow feels familiar. No stone bench, but a comfortable bed. No more masks and shields, but an open face and a clean start. Tony revels in the kisses he’s receiving, his hands on Loki’s back. Faintly, he tastes bacon on Loki’s lips; bacon, cheese and the Dalmore. He greedily gives into the kisses. He wants to enjoy this for real.

\-----------------------------------


End file.
